


Memories beneath my sleeve

by Wendy_Tostada



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Additional Warning: cursing, Alternate Universe - The Doctor has tattoos, Gen, Tattoo AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7962700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wendy_Tostada/pseuds/Wendy_Tostada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the Doctor got a tattoo while being drunk? What if the tattoo survived a regeneration?<br/>A collection of short stories about the Doctor discovering new things about his body, remembering stories he had long forgotten and getting tattoos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Doctor gets a tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> First time ever that I write a fanfic, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> [there may be misspellings and all kind of grammatical mistakes, sorry]  
> 

He’s wondering the same streets he has always wondered but this time it’s different. This time, he doesn’t know where does he exactly is. This time, he feels lost -no, this time he _is_ lost. Overwhelmed by the pain beating in his chest, he opens the blue door. People, music, darkness and, at the same time, color lights everywhere. Definitely, not his TARDIS. 

The loud music makes his head ache and he feels the pain growing inside him. 

“Oi! Do you want something or not?” The bartender, young and ginger, is waiting for his response but he cannot articulate a single word. The ginger seems to understand his expression and just smiles knowingly while he serves him. “Drink it at once, mate. Don’t be shy.”

And he does drink it at once. And he feels the pain growing inside him, again. At first, the flames choke his throat and then whatever he was trying to push inside him starts to flare up in his stomach. The music is louder, the space gets smaller, there’s too much people. People dancing, people drinking, people touching him, people pushing him, people laughing, people, people and more people. There’s no more air for him, the earth spins quicker every time, his head aches even more. His blue door -no, not _his_ -, the blue door opens and he runs through it. 

The cold air of the night makes him shiver and his leather jacket doesn’t seem to be of any help. He’s lost again in the darkness of the night, the cold air embracing him, feeling that maybe that blue door wasn’t such a bad option. But he keeps walking anyways, alone, hopeless, consumed. Consumed because it’s all his fault. His and only his. Not a single part to share and for once he’s not so sure he can carry all that by himself. It’s his fault and because of that he no longer feels like a doctor. Maybe a traitor, definitely a coward and a murderer, even a very drunk timelord, but not for a second the doctor. 

There’s a light at the end of the street and he thinks that walking towards it is cruelly ironic. Cruel because every step he walks knocks his head like a hammer -he’s starting to think that maybe aliens are not meant to drink alcohol, or maybe it’s just him; and ironic because he doesn’t deserve a light at the end of his personal tunnel but he keeps walking towards it anyways. _Selfish bastard…_  

And although he cannot die (at least not yet), he’s well aware that he can feel all the pain from the universe in his very bones. And it might be the reason why when he reaches the light and sees a tattoo shop, he has already decided to go in even though he’s still trying to process what he’s doing. And perhaps that could be the reason why when the artist asks him how can she help him, he catches himself writing in a white sheet. And absolutely that’s the reason why as soon as he finishes his design, he’s surprised by his voice breaking out a “right here, please”.

For a moment he forgets the pain and feels funny about himself. He’s got to live more (much more) than five hundreds years to get drunk enough to get a tattoo. _So human -and stupid,_ very _stupid._ Unbelievable, but he lets himself laugh at the absurdity of everything. The absurdity of a no-more-than-21-years-old girl asking if he’s sure about his tattoo, some kid asking about the idea behind his _drawing,_ he laughing uncontrollably because  only he would be able to get drunk with just _one_ drink and laughing even more because he cannot find the courage to tell that kid that it’s not a drawing but a text in gallifreyan -actually, a _number_ that he will never be able to forget.

 


	2. The doctor finds his tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter fresh from the oven, enjoy it!
> 
> [there may be misspellings and all kind of grammatical mistakes, sorry]

Time is such a funny thing. A simple abstract concept that everybody want to control, that everybody want to feel in their hands to have just one more second, minute, hour, day, one more year to live. However, the Doctor doesn’t quite understand what’s all the fuss about it. It’s just a big ball of **wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff** that his TARDIS challenges constantly. 

Time, for the Doctor, is measured in how many times he can hold Rose’s hands before they start running. Time, for the Doctor, is measured in how many times he is left breathless by the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. All the same, time, for the Doctor, is measured by the emptiness inside him when he’s alone in his TARDIS because Rose is visiting Mickey and her mother.

He promised Rose that he would wait, “just five minutes and I’m back, Doctor. Don’t you dare to go to Barcelona without me”. So he waits, alone with his TARDIS and his old hand. The one he lost while he was still regenerating. The one he has preserved in a jar like some crazy psychopath that keeps treasures from his victims. The one that he wouldn’t have recognized as his a few months (or maybe years) ago when he still used a leather jacket and had the courage to kiss the most amazing girl in the world, his Rose.

_Rose_ , the one girl who has shown him what does it mean to have hope again. So young and full of light, he doesn’t feel lost anymore. He wants to show her everything, he wants to run forever with her and sometimes, for just a second, he believes it's possible when she’s giving him that look that fills both his hearts. 

Sometimes, he still remembers what it was to be the Doctor without Rose. He remembers the void inside his chest, the flames burning his hearts, the cold running through his bones. Sometimes, he needs to look at his old hand to remember how it’s going to be when Rose will no longer be with him. Sometimes, he needs to remember what he is capable of when he is left alone. He needs to remember his darkness to embrace the light while he still has it. 

He looks at his old hand and thinks about all the damage he has done. How many people have died? Too many. How many have died because of him? He doesn’t want to remember the answer. He used to know the exact number. _Hell_ , he got a tattoo with it so he could never forget it. He looks at his right hand, the one still attached to his body. No tattoo, no darkness in his skin. It’s like Rose came to his life to erase all the darkness in him. The curse of the timelords, nothing lasts forever, not even a _stupid_ tattoo. Doomed to be alone, no matter what. 

At least now he can talk to his old hand. He catches the jar and looks at the hand very closely. “So it’s going to be you and me forever…” 

Not talking to the hand ever again, _checked_. 

He leaves the hand where it was before, the jar stumbles and falls to the ground. The Doctor picks it up relieved that it’s not broken and, before putting it somewhere safe, something catches his attention. He shakes the jar moving the hand inside. He shakes it again and again and again until he sees it. Right in front of him, the _wonderfully stupid tattoo_ he got a long time ago. The stupid tattoo he thought had disappeared actually survived his regeneration. _Fantastic._

In other words, he couldn’t have Rose forever but he could have his tattoo as long as it didn’t go through a decapitation. _Maybe not so fantastic…_ Well, that was something new for sure, who would say that timelords could have tattoos?

The door opens and his golden girl interrupts his thoughts.

“Are you ready for Barcelona?” She’s smiling and the Doctor is glad that time is such a big ball of **wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff**. 

“How long did you say you were going to stay with me?” She looks at him, his hearts beating faster.

“Forever.” 

Yeah, maybe that could work. Maybe he could have tattoos that lasted forever and a rose always lighting up his path. Maybe he could have a forever.


	3. Donna Noble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is not ready to say goodbye to Donna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a long time since I posted the last chapter... I've been through a very difficult time but I'm still here, trying to write something in English for you so... I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> [there may be misspellings and all kind of grammatical mistakes, sorry]

_But every night, Doctor, when it gets dark, and the stars come out, I'll look up._

How long has it been? A day? A week? A year? _Shit, shit, shit._ He has lost notion of time, again. **Ha.** How ironic, a timelord unable to tell time apart.

_On her behalf._

Just shut up. He needs (just once) his head to shut up. He needs silence, no more battles inside his head. No more pain in his memories, _please_.

_I'll look up at the sky and think of you._

He can't take it anymore. He stops walking around the TARDIS and sits down on the floor. He stays in silence for a few seconds, his hands pressing his eyes underneath his glasses. Suddenly, he takes off his shoes fiercely and then he throws the glasses on the ground before loosening his tie. He just needs more space, more air, more something.

What bothers him the most is that after everything he had been through, he had promised to himself that he would never go through this hell again. He made the promise after losing his light... He made the promise again after hurting Martha. He made the promise but he forgot everything after meeting Donna. He was foolish again because he believed again in a forever. He truly ~~believes~~ believed he would travel with Donna, that unbelievable sassy human being, forever. But once again, there he is, alone and broken. 

At this point, he knows he doesn't have much time left although he's not sure how much he has already wasted. But at the same time, he doesn't want to go. Not now, not now that Donna has forgotten him. What if he forgets her? What if he forgets Martha or...? What if he loses all the hope Donna has brought to him? He still needs her, he still needs someone to ask him to save one more life -he's not sure he's going to be able to save his own.

He gets up, not sure of what to do. He needs to make peace with himself before saying goodbye, he still needs a forever in his life. He still needs a hand to grab before running into the next adventure. He... He suddenly realizes that he still can have a little forever for himself. He grins, looks where Donna usually stands and, with the energy he has left, he whispers to her a broken "allons-y" just before putting the TARDIS afoot.

\------

Same place and same girl but different request and this time without alcohol running through his veins. _Nice one, spaceman_.

The young girl smiles while she works on the design of his tattoo. He wonders if she remembers his drunk self or, at least, the peculiar tattoo he asked that night. He wonders through the tattoo shop, photographies of finished works hang all over the walls and some drafts, too. His gaze gets caught by one but soon the young artist brings him back to reality.

"It's a little bit childish, I know..." She says, shyness on her cheeks.

"No, not at all. I... like it." He smiles politely.

"It's one of my first designs... I draw it for my sister, she's obsessed with _The Beauty and the Beast_." She stops mid-explanation, realizing that maybe her client doesn't give a damn about her sister's Disney obsession. "Anyways, there you go. It's simple, a very minimalist stroke but I think that you're trying to save a delicate moment," she looks at him in the eyes and changes her opinion. "You're trying to save a delicate memory."

The Doctors breathes in before catching the design. It's not what he was hoping for but it feels like Donna. He caresses the pattern with his finger and without even looking away he tells her it's perfect. She blushes and grabs back the design. She makes him go into the same room he was last time and she starts working on his little forever.

It hurts but not as much as he remembered. Maybe it's because this time he finds it releasing, maybe it's because this time he knows he won't forget. Maybe it's because he's making another promise.

"I thought you wouldn't like it..." He startles. "I mean, it's a little bit girlish..."

"Well, I like it." He says, curious.

"Yeah, I'm glad you like it since you're the one paying for it and everything." She smirks jokingly and the Doctor joins her.

They stay in silence for a few more minutes while she finishes the tattoo.

"Two hands holding each other... That looks like someone important." She holds his gaze, grin on her face.

"She's the most important woman in the whole wide universe."

"You must be lucky, then."

And he smiles at her because, for once, in the middle of the mess he's living, he has something he knows he won't regret. 

 

 


End file.
